


Stay Away From Me (Do Me A Favor)

by orphan_account



Category: All Time Low, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Awkwardness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Teen Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not an asexual, it’s just… His time hasn’t come yet. Patrick is too young to pretend he wants to grow up somewhat quicker. Well, at least he can be calm about his sex life — it’s impossible to ruin something that does not exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dating a girl can bring very big problems into your peaceful existence, and dating a guy surely will turn your life into a nightmare. Especially, if you are a guy. Every day at school Patrick Stump sees a horrible scenes in the style of a cheap soap-operas; girls with a mascara tears and guys, crying about their ruined sex lives. Patrick tries to stay away from this ‘high school drama’; he thinks it’s a fake, and he’s sick of it. Well, at least Patrick can be calm about his sex life — it’s impossible to ruin something that does not exist. Honestly, it’s not a reason for a pride.

At least, no one is cheating on him.

Of course, not all the girls in the school are sluts, and not all the boys are alpha-males, no; it’s just what Patrick notices. And if being in /fake/relationships with someone obliges you to suffer about stupid little things, then why do people get involved in this?

It’s Patrick’s senior year in a high school, and it’s a great motivation to stop being a lazy-ass. He should concentrate on the studying and write more music about an unrequited love; only school rumors and gossips, without any personal experience. Maybe later, in college, Patrick will solve his little (literally, _innocent_ ) problem. At the moment, intimate life isn’t particularly interests him.

He’s not an asexual, it’s just… His time hasn’t come yet. Patrick is too young to pretend he wants to grow up somewhat quicker. And he knows what to do with his _teenage dreams_.

That’s why Patrick decides to stay single as long as he can, and he copes with it successfully. Maybe he’s smarter /or dumber/ than his schoolmates, or maybe he just hasn’t an army of screaming fangirls behind his back.

Despite this, his life is a very romantic thing. Sometimes Patrick finds strange messages attached to his locker, and he even receives cards in the form of hearts for Valentine’s Day from anon, but…

It’s not serious, isn’t it?

 

***

Patrick always wakes up late even if his mom tries to kick him out of the bed like this time.

“Get up,” Mrs. Stump says persistently, shaking his son’s shoulder. Sleepy Patrick mutters something about canceled math lesson and hopes that it sounds truthfully. He forgot to set the alarm clock. Again.

Patricia sighs and hurries out of his room; she doesn’t want to be late for work, and she decides to talk to Patrick in the evening.

Patrick reluctantly starts his morning routine with brushing teeth; the only thing he can do before going to school. He finds his jeans scattered on the floor and pulls them on, not bothering about fresh t-shirt. Barely remembering to tie the shoelaces on his sneakers, Patrick grabs his glasses, baseball cap and his school bag, and jumps out of the door.

He has no time for breakfast.

Patrick almost runs a mile — fortunately, he lives relatively close to the school building — and like a hurricane he crosses the hall, slowing down in attempts to catch his breath. Patrick doesn’t like running, but today his day begins with something good for his health. This ‘good thing’ doesn’t save him from being late; school corridors are already empty, and now Patrick has to skip the math. For the second time in a week. Sure, Mr. Weekes will kill him at the next test.

Patrick walks down the hallway and suddenly notices a small piece of paper attached to the door of his locker.

 _‘party? ;)’_ it says.

This message irritates him, really. Whose party? Who the hell is doing this? Such a clumsy handwriting. Patrick freezes in the center of a long corridor, he’s absolutely lost in his thoughts. He hears a noise and a heavy breathing behind him, but Patrick doesn’t have the time to dodge from someone flying right into him. Patrick slams his shoulder into a locker and drops his backpack as his right hand goes numb.

“Sorry!” a tall guy yells and runs away in an unknown direction, without paying attention to Patrick.

Blankly, Patrick stares at the dent in the locker door and then moves away from a dangerous position. He manages to make a few steps as something really heavy hits him in the back with an enthusiastic ‘MOTHERFUCKING GABE!’ battle cry.

This ‘chaser’ knocks Patrick off his feet, and it’s just the beginning of the accident. With all his weight, Patrick falls forward and blacks out for a moment as the sharp pain stabs his right hand with a nasty ‘crack’ sound.

The floor is fucking hard.

“Trick?” someone pokes Patrick’s cheek. Patrick groans and rolls onto his back, pressing his injured hand to his stomach. He doesn't know where his glasses are, and he can’t clearly see the man, who’s sitting next to him. Only the outlines; dark hair, red hoodie, guilty smile… Oh shit, he’s Pete Wentz aka the Biggest Problem.

“What the…” Patrick mumbles.

“Trick, I’m sorry! Can you stand up?” Pete asks, he’s worried; Patrick feels it. Also he feels a bruise, blossoming on his knee under his jeans. And his arm hurts as hell from shoulder to fingers.

“Not now,” Patrick answers weakly, still lying on his back.

“Sorry, dude,” Pete repeats once again and puts the glasses on Patrick’s nose.

It’s like a relief for Patrick’s eyesight. Finally, he can examine his right wrist; it’s swollen, and the skin looks bruised and slightly blue. Pete takes Patrick’s hand to look the damage closer, but Patrick bursts out with anger.

“Fuck, don’t touch me!” Patrick hisses, glaring at Pete.

Surprisingly, Pete keeps calm.

“We have to go to the nurse,” he decides. Patrick nods in agreement and stands up, leaning his back against the lockers. Pete tries to help, but Patrick gives him a sign to stay away. This kid is really stubborn, who would have thought?

“Ow, “Patrick winces in pain, rubbing his wrist.

“Do you think it’s broken?” Pete asks, and Patrick notices he’s very concerned.

“I don’t know,” Patrick sighs sadly.

No one came out of the class to check if something bad happened in the hallway. It looks like no one cares. Patrick’s heading to the nurse’s office; Pete follows him, holding Patrick’s school bag. Patrick reaches out his good hand to take his bag back, but Pete shakes his head.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, avoiding Patrick’s eyes.

“As you want,” Patrick grumbles, shrugging.

Pete wants.

 

***

“Dislocated wrist,” a young woman, Ms. Yao concludes, looking at Patrick’s hand. “It’s not a broken bone, don’t worry. What happened?”

“I fell,” Patrick responds darkly, realizing that this phrase sounds really stupid. But seriously, _he fell._

“Because of me,” Pete cuts him off, nodding.

They are sitting nervously on the leather couch in the nurse’s small office. Patrick can’t wait to end this dumb conversation, and he wants to dull the pain in his injured wrist as soon as possible. Fucking Wentz and his fucking Gabe! Patrick almost hates them.

“Alright. I can fix it,” Ms. Yao says. “But it will hurt,” she warns, placing her hands on Patrick’s palm and forearm.

The nurse’s fingers are cold, and Patrick’s face turns even paler than earlier.

“Do it,” Patrick holds his breath and closes his eyes. Pete pats him on the back, and Patrick braces himself, biting his bottom lip.

“Be strong,” Pete encourages him, and Ms. Yao chuckles as if she is not going to twist Patrick’s swollen wrist.

But she’s a professional.

The good part is: it happens very quickly; Patrick just hears a different ‘crack’ for the second time in ten minutes. But the worst part is: it hurts like a bitch. For a few seconds the pain becomes stronger, and Patrick is barely holding back a cry. At first, he’s sure that the bone is broken now, but then he feels a long-awaited relief in his arm.

“Oh my God,” Patrick exhales slowly and opens his eyes. He can’t believe it’s over.

“Good job!” the nurse smiles, covering his hand with an elastic bandage. “Be careful, and don’t do anything with that hand till tomorrow.”

“ _Anything_ ,” Pete repeats with a vulgar intonation and winks to Patrick. Embarrassed Patrick probably blushes, but it’s not so noticeable, because he’s as white as a sheet.

“Shut up,” he whispers, clenching his fists and getting ready to attack Pete. The dark-haired boy laughs louder.

“Do you have any sedatives?” Pete turns to Ms. Yao, smirking. “Knock him out, please.”

“Both of you will be fine,” she replies, adjusting her curly hair. “Just no more fights, okay?”

Pete nods happily, and Patrick is ready to explode; in the evening he’s supposed to practice with Andy and Joe, but now he can’t play guitar because of this incredible asshole Wentz.

The King of Awkward situations.

They’re leaving the nurse’s office, and the bell rings; Patrick’s going to his literature class, but Pete’s haunting him. Patrick counts to ten mentally, trying not to resort to violence. Usually, he’s not an angry guy; it is just not the best day of his life.

Patrick is upset.

“Sorry again,” Pete shouts in attempts to be louder than the rumble in the hallway.

“Can you leave me alone?” actually, this question should be polite, but Patrick is too nervous to watch his intonation, and it sounds a little bit roughly. But Pete still invades into Patrick’s personal space.

School life goes on; one couple is kissing near the window and another couple is yelling at each other furiously.

“Are you breaking up with me?” a guy with a half-bleached hair asks dramatically. “Fine! Anyway I have Alex!”

“Yes! You’re fucking cheater!” his /ex/ girlfriend snaps and goes between Pete and Patrick, almost pushing them aside. Her words can be used as a line in a good lovesong, Patrick thinks.

People, what’s wrong with you?

Pete opens his mouth again, and Patrick expects for a continuation of a pointless excuses, but someone grabs him by the shoulders from behind.

“Oh man, your arm… Is this my fault?!” he’s terrified. Gabe Saporta — hyperactive, restless and extremely tall Pete’s best friend.

“There’s a dent on my locker now,” Patrick informs.

Pete is full of energy, as always, and he wants to say something important, and finally he does.

“Are you going on my party?” he blurts out, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down to his palms. Gabe looks at Patrick with curiosity in his brown eyes.

Patrick shakes his head and gathers his thoughts. Note on his locker. Oh, it was an invitation to _Pete’s party_. Great.

“No, I’m busy,” Patrick replies, turning around and going away without any explanations. He is tired of these idiots.

Pete and Gabe exchange puzzled glances.

“He’s so strange,” Gabe says, he still feels guilty.

“He’s just Patrick Stump,” Pete gives him a half-smile.

It means that no one in the school can understand Patrick’s behavior.

 

***

The rehearsal is totally ruined. Patrick, Andy and Joe are just chilling in Andy’s basement and talking about their plans for the future. Their band is still nameless, and their songs are nameless; sometimes Patrick feels himself nameless too. He’s just ‘a red-haired nerd with glasses’ and Andy is ‘a tattooed guy with glasses’ and Joe is ‘a curly-haired guy’.

Andy discusses about high education, but Joe cuts him off with a question for Patrick.

“Why did you say ‘no’ to Pete?” Joe can be a really annoying person.

“Because I can,” Patrick crosses his arms over his chest. He knows why his friends want him to go to the party. They hope he can find his happiness in one-night stand. What's fun in this /dirty/ thing?

Andy throws a drumstick at Patrick, and he dodges, laughing. Joe rolls his eyes and keeps playing the riff on his guitar. He’s sure his friend is a geek.

“Okay, it’s almost night,” Andy says. “We don't want any troubles, do we?”

They’re tired and they go home. The day has passed in vain.

After an awkward dialogue with his mom (“You have to go to bed a bit earlier!” — “Okay!”) Patrick enters his dark room. He lies on his bed, trying not to do _something with his right hand_ to get rid of the stress.

He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> classic high school AU just because I want it:)  
> let me know about any grammar errors if you can, please  
> \---  
> and YES this fic has a russian version https://ficbook.net/readfic/3346802/8779228  
> -tj


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick is not an extrovert, and he doesn’t need a company 24/7. More than that, he’s better when he’s alone. He’s not included in his own circle of trust, and maybe it is an egoistic thing, but he’s not like a grumpy old man; Patrick is just looking for some ‘peace of mind’.

And yes, he really wants to be a musician just for music and not for popularity.

People are pressing him; his friends and some unknown dudes in the school. Patrick can read the questions in their eyes: ‘why aren’t you dating someone?’ and ‘why don’t you go to parties?’, and they don’t even worry about his _personal life_ , they’re just pretending, and it’s much worse. Okay, Joe and Andy really want to help, but sometimes their concern is annoying.

Pete is pretty famous, and he always throws crazy parties in his house, and everyone likes it. He is like a school mascot in this sense. Pete invites a half of a town, and the other half comes without an invitation, and right now his parents are on a business trip. He’s good at making friends, and he’s good at making puppy eyes, and Patrick decides to talk to him. Actually, he doesn’t want to do it, but Pete drives him into a corner, and there’s no escape, like literally.

Pete hangs over him like a rock.

“Fine!” Patrick says, standing in the gap between the wall and legendary lockers. “I don’t know what do you want, but… I’ll go.”

Pete grins, and Patrick just thinks _‘where is Joe or Andy, somebody please help me.’_ His sociophobia (or claustrophobia) progresses, despite the fact he hasn’t it. Maybe, Patrick really needs to hang out with someone to clear his head.

“Party starts at eight, see you later,” Pete’s satisfied and he slaps Patrick on the shoulder. This motherfucker is very strong, and Patrick’s whole arm is bruised after yesterday’s adventures, but who the fuck notices it? Patrick nods automatically like ‘yeah, dude this is great’.

Finally, Pete leaves him alone, and Patrick catches his breath as the anxiety prevails over his mind. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, telling himself everything will be fine.

At the lunch Patrick complains about his unfair life, but Joe and Andy aren’t trying to make him a little more self-confidence.

“I’m gonna date Mary, but Pete is her ex-boyfriend,” Joe says wishfully. “And I don’t need any Wentz to ruin my date.”

Patrick doesn’t need any Wentz to ruin his _life_  , but he’s not a sexy girl, so it’s not an argument.

“Traitor,” Patrick mutters under his breath. “Andy?”

The genius of science and best drummer ever sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m grounded,” Andy stares at his green tea. “Fucking math.”

For Patrick, Andy is even luckier than Joe with his date. 

“Please kill me,” Patrick moans. His weirdness makes him weak and miserable, and he has to fight against it.

He can’t hide from the world and he has a good chance to test himself: today at 8 p.m.

 

***

Shitty music is too loud, and sweaty guys and girls are too wasted, and that’s how Wentz’s party goes. There’s nothing interesting, all as Patrick had expected. He is bored and he ponders for how long he should spend here to leave the house without seeming rude. At the moment, Patrick can’t see Pete, and he finds a company in the form of Jack Barakat with an opened bottle of whiskey from Pete’s bar. It’s a brilliant idea, Patrick thinks, taking the first sip of a burning liquid.

Forty minutes later, they’re drunk, they’re sitting on folding chairs in a dark corner of a living room, and Patrick almost falls asleep.

“Hey?” Jack giggles and shakes Patrick’s shoulder.

“M-m what?” Patrick responds, flicking his hand.

Patrick doesn’t like it. Since his childhood, he hates any attempts from someone to draw his attention by touching, rubbing, patting and poking. His mom knows it, but the others… Patrick doesn’t tell them, and it’s not a big problem; he has never been bullied at school, he’s thankful for it, and he keeps silence.  

If people will know that you hate something, they will do it to give you hell, right?

The bottle is half empty (or half full if you are an optimist), and the conversation is messy and indistinct; they change topics too often to concentrate on them.

“Alex is going to dye his hair blue,” Jack says, raising a bottleneck to his lips. “Let's go take a look?”

Shaking his head, Patrick wrinkles his nose, and Jack hands him a bottle again. Patrick’s sure he’s gonna die tomorrow, but he agrees to drink this whiskey; as crappy as everything. Jack behaves like he’s a descendant of the dynasty with an extrasensory powers.

“You’re freaking out because of every fucking touch, and don’t deny, I see it. Dude, how do you have sex? Or…” Jack looks at him with curiosity.

It’s the same old song, and Patrick rolls his eyes. Another reason for hating these stupid parties is: questions like this. Patrick doesn’t jump in bed with unfamiliar people, but is that mean he’s a freak? Why? Is it a crime to be a virgin at seventeen?

Patrick finds the guts and opens his mouth to give Jack a witty answer, but…

“This is fucking great, really” Jack says with a serious intonation. “You’ll find your love, and you will touch each other everywhere, I promise,” he takes another sip.

Patrick takes his glasses off, wipes them on the hem of his t-shirt and pushes them on the bridge of his nose. He’s more than just surprised, and he reaches his hand for a bottle.

“Thanks,” Patrick laughs softly, and Jack smiles, showing his teeth like a cartoon character.  

The bottle is empty, and Jack goes to find Alex with a big enthusiasm, waving goodbye at Patrick. It was his strangest conversation ever, well, Jack is such an attentive person.

 

***

Anything might happen when you’re drunk. Patrick walks out of the bathroom, but Pete catches him in the corridor and drags him back into the dim bathroom.

“Don’t…” Patrick mumbles chokingly; he wants to say ‘don’t touch me’ as his daily prayer, but Pete covers his lips with his mouth. Patrick doesn’t return the kiss, pushing Pete’s tongue out of his throat with his own tongue; Pete tastes like beer, and it’s not as awful as Patrick thought. Is this a real kiss? Honestly, it’s enough for Patrick, because he’s completely drunk, and his mind is fuzzy. But obviously, Pete is more sober, and he wants something else; he presses Patrick against the tiled wall, rubbing his chest and shoulders; Patrick makes muffled sounds in protest, but Pete misconstrues it.

The door is unlocked, but Patrick feels trapped.

Pete is totally obsessed with Patrick’s body; he’s unhealthily pale and soft, maybe too soft, and maybe he looks childish, but Pete is on the verge of excitement.

Taking a lead position, Pete shoves his knee between Patrick’s legs, dangerously close to Patrick’s crotch; it’s almost painful, and Patrick moans slightly. Pete runs his hands under Patrick’s blue t-shirt and kisses Patrick on the corner of his mouth. Patrick tilts his head, he’s a little bit horny, but terrified, and he attempts to interrupt their clumsy make-out session, trying to recoil from Pete’s hug as the wave of panic hits him.

“What?” Pete asks discontentedly, but Patrick just snorts and stubbornly moves forward.

“No, not now, not like this…” he croaks as Pete slides his hand down to the waistband of Patrick’s jeans, getting ready to unbutton them. Patrick becomes hotter and hotter, and Pete thinks subconsciously that he may have a fever, but he keeps trying to unzip Patrick’s jeans.

“It’s okay,” Pete whispers, nuzzling his face into Patrick’s neck; his pretty long hair tickles Pete’s nose and he smirks, feeling Patrick’s sideburn against his cheek.

Trucker hat and glasses can’t protect him from sexual harassments; Patrick looks so vulnerable, but he’s not going to lose his honor. But Pete has other plans.

“I’ll scream,” Patrick warns, breathing heavily. No one will hear him because club-music is pounding in this fucking house.

“Yeah, I can make you scream,” Pete replies, his eyes are dark.

Patrick tries to remove Pete’s hands, but Pete presses him harder, grabbing his injured and still bandaged wrist by an accident. Pain flashes slightly, but it snaps Patrick’s brain back to reality, and his inner voice yells _‘don’t let him!’_

He always listens to his inner voice.

“I said NO!” Patrick pushes Pete away, confusing him with this action. “Stay away from me,” he adds; his words are slurry, but convincing. Patrick adjusts his t-shirt and leaves the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Pete lets out an angry sigh and shoves his hand into his own black pants.

Patrick wades through the crowd _(they’re happy, they love every minute of the party, they don’t know anything)_ ; his glasses are fogged, and his head’s spinning, and it causes motion sickness. Somewhere nearby Jack shouts ‘Alex where are you my love’, and Patrick covers his ears with his hands. Walking around the house, Patrick can’t think straight, and he tumbles into an unlocked room — probably bedroom — he sways and nearly falls on the floor. Patrick needs to sober up and get some rest; he flops down onto the bed, dozing off instantly.

He hopes that in the morning it all will be better.

 

***

Well, weekend morning is not so good. Patrick comes to himself, because the contents of his stomach are trying to go out without his permission. Patrick sits up quickly and swallows a bitter lump in his throat, with the aim of not to puke on the clean sheets. His body’s aching, as if he had been beaten and raped all night long. It’s such a shitty scenario; Patrick is not alone in the bed, but he’s not naked and he’s happy about it. His ‘neighbor’ — Pete — is already awake and apparently concerned about Patrick’s state.

“Do you remember anything?” Pete stares at Patrick worriedly, covering himself in a blanket.

“Oh yeah,” Patrick nods emotionally and immediately regrets about it. His stomach twists, and Patrick turns away from Pete, just in case. He’s dizzy, and his weak vestibular system will kill him someday.

Yes, he passed out in Pete’s bed, and it is his fault, but Patrick would prefer to lie on the floor than under one blanket with Pete. But he appreciates Pete’s hospitality, thank you very much. Anyway, Pete has the right to sleep in his own bed even if someone is already sleeping in it.

“I didn’t mean to…” Pete picks the right words, because he never can just shut up.

“Rape me?” Patrick suggests sarcastically.

Pete trails off, his cheeks turn bright red; he sits next to Patrick, waiting for forgiveness. He keeps that ‘bathroom moment’ in his memory: Patrick’s first time, certainly. But Pete realizes he went too far.

“Are you afraid of me now?” Pete asks, upset as hell.

Silently, Patrick slides off the bed like in slow motion, and Pete snatches the hem of his t-shirt.

“Where are you going?!” he sounds like a hysteric girl, and his fingers burn a hole in shirt’s fabric.

“Please let me go, or I’ll throw up all over your BED!” Patrick begs, pressing his palm to his lips; he can’t handle his hangover anymore.

Pete wants to punch himself in the face, praying that Patrick had a time to run to the restroom. 

 _‘Alcohol sucks,’_ Patrick thinks, puking his guts out. He leans closer to the toilet bowl, and oh, fuck — he remembers the taste of Pete’s tongue in his mouth, and another wave of last night booze comes up.

Pete knocks on the door, and Patrick is ready to die of shame.

“This is a normal reaction of your body, you know,” Pete comforts him from behind the door. Patrick isn’t pleased by the fact this is _normal_  , but he is too sick to argue about it.

“W-what?..” Patrick chokes on unspoken words; he coughs and then gags again. His stomach hurts, and it’s empty now, but Patrick still feels nauseous, and he can’t understand is this because of a hangover or because of the nerves. It’s disgusting; he wants to eat, but any food in his stomach will definitely force him to vomit again. Patrick thinks he’ll skip the lunch, because he is strong, and he is not going to faint from hunger, at least not right now. He spits the bile and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Alcohol sucks, he’s sure. And Jack Barakat is a little evil.

“Let me in,” Pete orders, frightened by the sudden silence behind the door. “Patrick?”

Patrick sighs heavily; he has nothing left to puke, so he can’t keep hiding in the restroom with no reason anymore. He gets up lazily and opens the wooden door, looking straight at Pete.

“I’m fine, please no…” Patrick shudders when Pete warps his arms around his shoulders and hugs him. “Pete, I’m dirty, you know?”

“Take a shower,” Pete shrugs.

“I need to go home,” Patrick doesn’t feel any better, and his headache is blossoming.

Pete is really annoying with his babbling.

“I can drive you home,” he offers in usual tone.

The thought about car trip makes Patrick want to throw up again, and he gulps brokenly. He will go home on foot, even if he’ll lose consciousness somewhere in the middle of the road. Well, Pete doesn’t think so, and he’s dying to get some reaction from Patrick — rage, maybe tears, maybe even a punch, anything but not his apathy. They’re walking down the hallway, and their steps cause an echo through the house.

Drunk boys and girls are sleeping in the kitchen, in the living room, and Gabe is lying on the corridor parquet, and it looks totally normal. Rest is like an afterparty.

Patrick freezes at the front door, ready to go outside, get home, take a shower and forget about everything.

“Um... Bye,” he says, stepping over the threshold.

“You can’t go alone,” Pete decides, grabbing his hoodie and going out of the door after Patrick. He doesn’t care about people in his house, despite the fact he doesn’t know most of them; Gabe will clean the mess when he’ll wake up.

Pete is obliged to make sure that Patrick is okay; Patrick just nods, and they’re heading in Stump’s house direction, keeping a distance between each other.

 

***

Monday is the worst day of the week, especially, if you didn’t sleep well last night. Patrick comes to school very early maybe for a first time in a month. He sits on a bench in the lobby, talking to Joe about Alex Gaskarth’s blue hair.

“I’ve heard he lose a bet,” Joe says. “By the way, Alex and Jack, well, you know… Together.” He smirks.

You’d have to be blind not to notice that Jack and Alex are _together,_ because it is obvious — Jack broke up with his fake girlfriend because of this hot new student.

“Cool, I’m gonna write a song about it,” Patrick answers indifferently; he is distracted by the waiting for Pete.

He doesn’t tell his friend about the incident that happened at the party, because it’s the most intimate moment in his life with someone, and he’s embarrassed.

Patrick isn’t scared, and surprisingly he feels nothing about their awkward kiss (or it wasn’t a kiss), and he has to solve this problem with Pete tête-à-tête.

Patrick jumps up on the bench and explodes with impatience when he sees Pete near the biology class. He mumbles ‘see you later’ to Joe and hurries to say something important to Pete.

Wentz walks too fast, but Patrick almost overtakes him.

“W-wait,” Patrick stutters, slowing down beside Pete. “Like, really I’m just… I am nervous right now…” he sighs.

Patrick rubs his right wrist, it’s without a bandage now, and just looks a little bruised. Pete can’t hide his happiness about Patrick is speaking to him, and Pete gives him a big smile.

“I thought you will avoid me,” Pete confesses, looking at Patrick’s hand. “Our walk to your house wasn’t successful…”

Patrick winces, remembering that he vomited in the bushes on the way home.

It’s just ten minutes before the start of the first lesson, and students begin to fill the hall. There’ll be a massive crowd soon, so Pete and Patrick must hurry up.

“My mom liked you. She doesn’t know that you pressed me against the wall…” Patrick looks around. “Without my permission,” he whispers.

“We were drunk, and you fucking know it! You are… You’re awesome!” Pete blurts out and clenches his fists in despair.

“It’s not a reason for raping me,” Patrick responds in a low voice.

Pete has never been feeling so guilty like today. Mondays are shit.

“Two years, Patrick. Two years. Sticky notes, Valentine’s cards…” he looks at Patrick with regret in his eyes.

“I know, and I keep them in a special box… And I ignore it _because I can_ ,” Patrick shrugs. “I’m not ready for any relationships.”

“When will you be ready?” Pete’s heart drops to his knees.

“Really, I don’t know, and I don’t think about it!” Patrick yells not bothering that somebody can hear him.

Pete notices Gabe’s lanky figure, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t want Gabe to join the conversation. Definitely, school building is not the best place to sort things out.

“I will not rush things,” Pete reaches out his hand to touch Patrick’s shoulder, but Patrick suddenly squeezes his eyes shut, clutching a strap of his backpack. “Hey?” Pete takes a step to Patrick’s side.

Like a statue, Pete freezes with his outstretched hand, because Patrick pulls away instinctively as if Pete’s going to hit him.

“It’s okay,” Patrick says, blinking and restoring his composure. “It just reminded me of… Um, _bathroom_.”

“Can we go through it?” Pete asks, thrusting his hands in back pockets of his tight jeans.

The bell is ringing with a nasty wheezing, and it drowns out Pete’s words, but Patrick hears them; he shrugs again, staring at the floor.

“I think we can, but… No more pressing, okay?” he smiles friendly. Patrick can communicate with Pete if he doesn’t shove his hands into Patrick’s pants.

Pete nods, and they decide to go to classes to avoid troubles with teachers. Both of them aren’t diligent students.

Later this day, before the last class starts, Patrick finds a note on his locker with a phrase _‘no more pressing but… prom?’_  

Patrick rummages his bag, searching for a pen; with a little grin he writes a word _‘maybe’_ below the invitation and goes to Pete’s locker to attach the note.

Yes, school life is a very romantic thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeeeeeell i don't know why but I ended up this way  
> sorry if anything is wrong


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete's friendly, Patrick's nervous.

“I want to get drunk,” Patrick says, standing at the back door of ‘Clandestine’ club; it’s their first _almost official_ performance. Joe’s smoking carelessly, and Patrick’s ready to run away and hide under the covers on his bed, and his mind goes crazy, and everything starts spinning, and…

“Patrick?” Joe’s voice sounds worriedly, and then Patrick finds himself slumped near the wall. “What the hell?” he throws a cigarette away and grabs Patrick’s arms to lift him up, but the world goes black again. After a few seconds, Patrick realizes that Joe holds him under the armpits. “What’s wrong?”

Patrick asks himself the same question; his chest’s tight, vision is blurry, Joe smells like tobacco, and it all makes Patrick feel sick.

“I’m just… I don’t know,” Patrick mumbles, returning his ability to stand.

“Dude, you have to stop being nervous,” Joe sighs.

Actually, Patrick can explain his state: a few bands will be performing at the ‘Clandestine’, including their /still/ Nameless band. It’s a nice start for young musicians; of course, it’s much more than just school’s concerts. But Pete-troublemaker-Wentz thinks he’s Patrick’s boyfriend now, and he’ll come to watch their set. Patrick can’t forbid him to come, but he wishes he could. Really, Pete and about a hundred people will hear Patrick’s singing, and this thought kills him; so, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He can’t tell this to Joe or Andy, and he even can’t find the courage to talk to his mom.

“Sorry,” Patrick rubs his face. He desperately needs to get drunk despite the fact he’ll be puking in the restroom /again/ or even onstage right after that. _Who the fuck cares?_

“Can you sing tonight?” Joe presses his palm to Patrick’s forehead, checking him for a fever. “You look shitty.”

Patrick quickly removes Joe’s hand.

“I’m fine,” Patrick convinces, hoping he doesn’t look like dying or like he’s already dead.

Suddenly the door flies open and Andy goes out of the club.

“Joe, can you stop smoking? Patrick, go and warm up,” he grumbles and then notices his friend’s paleness even in the in the dim light of a street lamp. “Patrick, are you okay?”

_‘No, I’m having a panic attack and I’m scared of it.’_

“Yeah,” Patrick answers, trying to smile. “Let’s go!”

Finally, he manages to pull himself together; no one’s going to buy him alcohol in this crappy club anyway.

 

***

Their set goes pretty well, and it’s the best thing of this evening; Patrick doesn’t forget the lyrics, Joe plays the right chords, and their hearts are synchronized with Andy’s drumbeat.

_‘They might try to tell you how you can live your life’_

Patrick thinks the band sounds strange without a bassist. Patrick thinks he looks strange as a lead singer. Patrick thinks he thinks too much.

The crowd is not huge, and he can’t see the audience without his glasses; he just knows _Pete’s here._ He waits for a suitable moment. It’s like calm before the storm.

A week has passed since their ‘kiss’ in the bathroom. A very hard week.

_‘Depression is a little bit like happy hour, right?’_

And Pete still wants more. He doesn’t talk about it just because he has no chance; Patrick’s so good at playing ‘hide & seek’.

After their performance, Patrick excuses himself, takes his guitarcase and intends to go home, but Joe catches him at the exit door.

“Alex’s band onstage,” Joe says, looking at Patrick.

“Yeah, they’re cool. But I called my mom, and she’ll drive me home,” Patrick lies, and /subconsciously/ he wants to find Pete and tell him he won’t go to prom with him.

“We can wait her together,” Joe offers, but Patrick shakes his head.

“I’m okay, I’m not gonna faint again,” he laughs.

Patrick has a few bad habits; roaming the city alone at night is the one of them. He still feels nothing about relationships with Pete and he’s ashamed of his indifference. Patrick doesn’t know why; maybe he likes girls, he’s not sure.

Joe nods and disappears in the club again; conversations with Patricia aren’t his favorite things. Patrick’s guitarcase becomes uncomfortably heavy, and he’s forced to adjust the strap constantly, walking down the street.

“You were so damn cool!”

Unexpected meeting, Wentz. Patrick turns to the voice and sees Pete running to him; he moves like a comet, and Patrick swears he can even see a glowing tale behind him.

“He-ey,” Patrick mutters as Pete squeezes his body in a hug. Pete looks so happy, and Patrick hates his physiology, right now — anxiety and nausea. Pete kisses his neck, and Patrick feels like things get out of his control.

“Stump, you smell so good,” Pete murmurs, his lips are hot against Patrick’s ear. _‘There’s nothing to be scared of, and maybe you are just tired.’_

“I feel dizzy,” Patrick warns, and it’s enough to make Pete break the hug promptly. He knows pretty well, what might happen when Patrick’s _that way dizzy_. Noticing Pete’s reaction, Patrick mentally celebrates the victory: if Pete doesn’t want to clean the puke off his brand t-shirt, then he’ll stay away. But Wentz’s a very friendly guy.

“Here’s my car,” Pete waves his hand at the parking lot’s side. “Seriously, I can give you a paper bag.”

Patrick shakes his head and this time he really calls to his mom with a request to take him and drive home. But he thinks he will _really_ need a paper bag.

 

***

He wakes up in the middle of the night; the window is open, but it’s stuffy in his room, and his pillow is unpleasantly wet. Patrick wants to flip the pillow over and keep sleeping on a cooler side, but metallic taste on his lips and strange soreness in his nose make him to jump up on the bed. _Blood._  His nose is bleeding as hell, and Patrick rushes to the bathroom, feeling a warm trickle on his chin. He’s not going to bother his mom and tries to be quiet, but it’s almost impossible even if Patrick knows how to deal with the nosebleed.

“Shit,” Patrick whispers as he presses a toilet paper to his nose, tilting his head forward. His body hates him, he’s sure.

He puts a wet cloth on the bridge of his nose, and after five minutes of it the bleeding finally stops. Patrick sighs with relief, washes his face and hands with cold water, and goes back to bed. The pillowcase is ruined, and Patrick decides to sleep the rest of night without pillow; he stares at the clock in his phone, digits are blurry without glasses — 4:03 a.m. Patrick groans and lies down onto his back, dozing off.

At the same time, Pete sits on his bed, pinching the nostrils with the hem of his old t-shirt as the blood’s wetting it.

 

***

Awkward breakfasts are like a tradition in Stump’s family.

“It’s not a hypertension, mom. I’m sure my blood pressure is fine,” Patrick repeats for the thousandth time, pouring milk in his cereals and on the table, he is so clumsy. But his mom keeps asking him about his nose and about his health at all. She doesn’t know about the faint, about Pete, and about panic attack, but she saw a blood on Patrick’s bed, and it’s enough.

“You threw up in the car, but you weren’t drunk,” Patricia frowns, remembering their trip home last evening.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick responds with a guilty smile; in recent days, he can’t cope with sickness. “I just was nervous… about the show.”

“Well, how it went?” his mom’s scanning him with her gaze, and Patrick thinks that — maybe — she knows everything.

“Cool,” he shrugs, mentally thinking up a conversation with Pete. _‘Can you never touch me? It’s a bad influence on me; oh, sorry about vomit on your shoes — you’ve been warned, really.’_

Patrick wants to be honest, and he's supposed to tell Pete about his _thing,_ but literally: Pete moves closer and Patrick feels worse. He wishes to be a normal guy with _normal_ private life, but at the moment he’s sure: when it comes to sex, he’ll end up in a hospital, having an emotional meltdown. _He’s not fucking ready._

After convincing his mom that he’s feeling good, Patrick goes to school, trying not to look like a martyr.

 

***

Pete’s not a fool, and he understands it clearly: Patrick avoids him. That’s why Pete insidiously catches him in a school locker-room after their ass-kicking PE. Patrick sits on the bench, almost in the corner, leaning his back against the wall, eyes closed. He’s sweating through his t-shirt and shorts, and he has no strength to go to shower let alone to run away.

“Stump, are you alive?” Gabe slaps his knee playfully.

“No,” Patrick replies weakly, without opening his eyes. He tries to handle with the aftermath of a three-mile marathon. It’s not healthy and it’s not fair, really — he did only a half of a distance, because HE’S NOT A FUCKING FLASH!!

Pete sits down next to him, waiting for the rest of the guys leave the locker-room; Jack Barakat dances Macarena, and he looks even more crazy than usual. Gabe asks jokingly who Jack’s drug-dealer is, and he points at Alex — yeah, they’re the greatest couple in school, Pete admits.

“Patrick, are you ill?” Jack’s voice’s _too concerned,_ and Pete feels something like jealousy. Patrick shakes his head, focusing on not to pass out in front of his classmates. _‘Breathe, you’re a dweeb, breathe.’_

Finally, the room is empty; Patrick’s still out of his breath, and Pete’s staring at him. Suddenly Patrick starts to think that his shorts are _too short,_ and he has no abs under his sweaty t-shirt, and that’s _noticeable_.

“Wanna talk?” Pete places his palm on Patrick’s thigh, ignoring the fact he shudders.

“Not right here, okay?” Patrick pushes Pete’s hand away. “Tomorrow evening I’m home alone so… you can come to me after school.”

Pete can swear it’s the best phrase in his life, and he’s incredibly happy to hear this from Patrick.

“Okay!” Pete nods, beaming like a kid on Christmas.

Patrick just sighs and reaches for his regular clothes, intending to change. Pete’s watching him with interest, and Patrick sheepishly asks him to turn away. Pete smirks, but does as he told obediently; he has a date with Patrick tomorrow, and everything else is irrelevant. Besides, from corner of his eye Pete still can see him.

 

***

Next day Patrick skips the school. Pete waits him near his locker, he tries to find him in the hallway, but fails and Gabe starts to show off.

“I think he’s with _someone_ ,” Gabe laughs, poking Pete’s ribs with his elbow.

“With his hand? Shut up!” Pete explodes. “Oh fuck, it’s Andy. Andy!” he yells, seeing one of Patrick’s friends near the History class.

Tattooed guy with the glasses freezes and then waves his hand in greeting.

“Hi!” he looks surprised.

“Where’s Patrick?” Pete blurts out.

“Um, he’s home,” Andy explains. “He’s sick.”

“Thanks!” Pete shakes Andy’s hand and hurries down the hallway, hoping that Gabe somehow will cover him.

Heading to Patrick’s house, Pete dials his number again; he hears long beeps, but Patrick doesn’t pick the phone. _He’s sick,_ and this thought hits Pete’s brain; it’s something wrong with Patrick since that moment at party, but Pete can’t imagine it’s something serious. Maybe he just caught flu?..

Technically, Patrick is his (boy)friend and he’s a weird kid. His thoughts are obscure, his talent is boundless and his glasses are nerdy. Pete’s convinced in this again when Patrick opens the door. _‘How the hell can you be so hot when you’re wearing crumpled t-shirt and these fucking ugly glasses?’_

“Hey?” Patrick doesn’t refuse when Pete crosses the hall; after 26 unanswered calls he has that right.

“Are you ignoring me again just because _you can?_ ” Pete asks.

“Yes,” Patrick sighs. “Let’s go to my room, now we really need to talk.”

Pete’s heart dies inside his ribcage, but he silently follows Patrick, troubled thoughts in his mind: _‘Jack’s cooler than you’_ or _‘I’m in love with a girl’_ which is much worse. Pete doesn’t dare to speak; he’s just sitting on the chair but some creepy thing happens.

Pete doesn’t know what he's supposed to do when Patrick unzips his faded jeans, tugs them down and throws away, standing in front of Pete in just his shirt and boxers with a Batman logo.

“Fuck me,” Patrick says, making a step to Pete’s side.

Pete’s body reacts ‘of course, gladly’, but it’s _Patrick,_ and he’s too fucking strange. Is that a game or test or what?

“Are you sure?” Pete asks mistrustfully and stands up, moving towards Patrick.

“It’s exactly what you want, right?” Patrick takes his glasses off. “Well, you can do that and tell to your friends you had sex with your boyfriend,” Patrick quips. _‘And then they will beat me up because of my sexual orientation,’_ he adds wordlessly.

“Trick wait. I don’t rush things anymore,” Pete’s pleased by this striptease, but he determines with a professional accuracy that Patrick isn’t even hard.

“Or do you want me to blow you?” Patrick chokes out as his imagination plays a bad trick on him; he pictures _this situation_ in his mind and bile burns his throat, cutting him off.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and why these incidents keep happening. But this time it’s not so bad, and Patrick just takes a deep breath.

“Calm down,” Pete reaches his hand to Patrick’s shoulder with a question in his eyes; Patrick nods and Pete hugs him. “It’s okay.”

They’re sitting on the edge of Patrick’s bed; both of them are more than just embarrassed.   

“I hate when people touch me,” Patrick confesses, shivering in Pete’s arms. “But you can find somebody to fuck with, I don’t mind.”

 “What?! I don’t need a fuck buddy! And I’m not gonna use you as my sex-toy, I like you as a person!” Pete shouts.

“Oops. Please, accept my apologies. I thought you are just a lustful jock,” Patrick sasses without any ‘sorry’ in his intonation. But he doesn’t sound angrily, and Pete giggles, thinking that Patrick looks great in his ~~childish~~ underwear. _‘It was a provocation, Trick what the hell are you doing?!’_

Patrick crawls away from Pete, crossing his legs and trying to cover his _Batman_ with his t-shirt.

“You’re just a cute nervous guy,” Pete picks Patrick’s jeans off the floor.

“I almost puked on myself, I’m disgusting,” Patrick snorts, taking his jeans back.

“No, you’re not,” Pete reassures. “I like you anyway.”

Patrick doesn’t say ‘I like you too’, but he’s _Patrick Stump,_ and his behavior is _normal_ ; Pete thinks he understands him. Patrick doesn’t have to worry because of their communication so much.

Actually, skipping school wasn’t included into Patrick’s plans, but at morning he was half-dead with a fever over 102.2, and he had to stay home. Certainly, his mom suspects something and — maybe — at the evening Patrick will talk to her.

But now, after telling Pete about his weirdness, Patrick really feels better; Pete isn’t mad at him, and Patrick’s grateful, and maybe he has sympathy for his ‘boyfriend’.

“I will be with you all day,” Pete warns. “Let’s go watch TV or I don’t know...”

Patrick shrugs, offering to play a computer game, and Pete agrees.

Probably, the development of their relationships is the slowest in the Universe, but — who knows — maybe they will enjoy the process. 

_They definitely will._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, sorry if this chapter ruined the story i just wanted it to be here. now this fic's 100% complete ^^  
> \----  
> feel free to tell me about grammar errors or i don't know what else


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